


Such Things to Come

by Slantedlight (BySlantedlight)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:40:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BySlantedlight/pseuds/Slantedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lads first meet on the way to their squash match...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such Things to Come

The first thing Bodie saw of him was his backside, tightly encased in denim and pointing skyward - or metal-rafters-ward at least - as the man bent and twisted to reach under the car to position his jack. But he caught a flash of hands too, as they went competently about their work, and for some reason it was those hands that stopped him in his tracks, that sent a sudden rush of heat and want and _now_ to his groin. Strong, _competent_ hands...

He couldn't stay, he had an appointment. He should take a deep breath and keep going. 

He didn't.

Then the jack was securely in place, the handle attached and turned just enough, and the man was unbending and turning and standing all in one graceful, sinuous motion. He caught sight of Bodie, their eyes met, and Bodie was lost.

They were going to have sex, here in this car park, whilst the rain pelted down outside, and his appointment - this Doyle bloke, the man Cowley wanted to partner him with - sat tapping his ex-ploddy fingers.

Then again, he was on the early side after all...

The man's eyes wandered slowly downwards, taking in every part of Bodie, including, satisfyingly, the way the cotton of his tracksuit had moulded itself to his erection, not hidden at all by the short nylon jacket, hanging casually open. He met Bodie's eyes again, walked forward a step or two.

"And who might you be?" he asked, and his voice was deep, and slightly husky.

Bodie let his own gaze wander in its turn, down the t-shirt worn under a short denim jacket, over the brown leather belt, down the pale blue of jeans that were creased into arrows that all but pointed straight to... The man was just as hard as he was.

He looked up again, and there was a glint in the eyes that met his, so that he half smiled in reply. "I might be Smith - John Smith."

The man smiled too, then. "Pleased to meet you, Smith. Like to give me a hand?"

In the distance he could hear a car going slowly around the bends of the car park, fan belt slipping with each corner as it rose to the next level. The day outside was nothing more than a thin grey strip at the far end of the building. All that existed, in the pale and dusty orange-brown light that surrounded them, was himself and this man... 

...and the car - a shiny white Jag with a flat front tyre. Bodie looked down at it for a moment, then up to the man, at the tilt of his hips as he leaned on one hand against the door, at the way he licked his lips suddenly, at the way his hair curled, too long for a bloke, but just the right length to grab, to hold on to whilst...

"I think I could manage that...?" he said, trailing off on a questioning upnote, finally letting his own bag drop to the floor.

"Jones," the man grinned back, "Pete Jones."

 _Mr Smith and Mr Jones_... They stared at each other for another sharp moment, and Bodie found himself licking his own lips. This was going to be good.

Jones took another step forward, until he was close enough that Bodie could smell him above the metallic tang and sooty exhaust smells of the car park, a faint whiff of apples - shampoo - and aftershave... He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breathed in... what was it, something he knew, something...? By the time he opened them again Jones was twisting to slide past him, then hesitating as he looked into the boot.

Jones took a deep breath, then he turned to look at Bodie and then away again, and then he took off his jacket, slowly... left arm... a shrug of broad shoulders, so that the denim slid downwards, dragging Bodie's gaze with it, down the length of Jones' back, sliding to hang over his backside, that perfectly curved backside... then off his other shoulder, down his right arm... 

He had good arms, muscled, as though he worked out... Bodie's breath caught, and he swallowed. He liked it when the other bloke matched his own strength, could give a good account of himself - not a fight, but... something more. Yeah, Jones would be _something more_ , alright...

Then Jones let his jacket drop into the boot, reached forward to pull back a covering, and then more deeply inside the vehicle, bending further, muscles tensing... and hefting out a spare tyre, swinging it carefully but casually out and around in one hand. "Find the wheel wrench for me?" he asked, tipping his head towards the boot. 

Bodie nodded amiably, let Jones pass him with the tyre, and then took his turn bending to rummage in the wheel well. 

When he finally straightened, wrench in hand, Jones hadn't moved, was staring down at him with a badly suppressed smile on his face.

"You..." Bodie began, advancing on him so that Jones backed away, grinning openly now and holding the tyre in front of him like a shield.

"Tit for tat, you know," Jones said, "I was just admiring your..."

"...tat," Bodie chorused with him, thrusting suddenly with the wrench as if it was a sword, grinning himself when Jones tried to block with the tyre, misjudged his swing and only just avoided knocking the wing mirror off the vehicle next to them. 

"I can see why you need help," Bodie added, and while Jones was distracted, he reached out and curved his hand around the man's backside, feeling it warm and rounded and firm, tightening his grip at the same time as he pushed him towards the front of the jag. "You need to get your nuts off first, you know." He gestured with the wrench, as suggestively as he could.

"Ah, that's where I'm going wrong is it?" Jones glanced back over his shoulder, all wide-eyed innocence, as he leaned the tyre against the concrete wall. He turned back, hands on canted hips, blatantly hard and flaunting it. "Good job you're here then - would you mind holding it for me?"

Bodie bit down on a grin, managed to keep a straight face. "My pleasure." He held out the wrench, and Jones took it from him, slowly, deliberately, so that the moment seemed to crackle between them from one side of the metal to the other, full of promise and certainty both, then he crouched down in front of the wheel, his jeans seeming to tighten almost to impossibility, and levered away the wheel trim with one end of the wrench. The wheel wasn't yet jacked so high that it would spin when the nuts were loosened, but Bodie reached out to put a hand to it anyway, because it meant he had to lean in towards Jones, meant that he could tilt his head and breathe in that elusive aftershave again...

He remembered what it was just as Jones caught on to what he was doing, turned his head slightly to cast an enquiring - and amused - eye his way. _Givenchy_...

"And are you one?" he asked, not expecting a reply beyond some puzzled taunt, but Jones' simply quirked an eyebrow, read his mind.

"A _Gentleman_?" His voice was low, a deep rumble that sent goosebumps across Bodie's skin, a sharp tingling to his groin. "Well, we'll 'ave to see about that, won't we?"

Another car passed behind them on its way to the next level, windows down and voices loud above pop music, and Bodie swallowed, took an instinctive step away from the Jaguar, from Jones. Christ, there had to be somewhere private in this bloody place... a service room, or... maybe they could stop the lift on their way in...

"Care to pump it up?"

"Eh?" _The tyre_... Jones was looking at him with that twist to his smile again - he knew what Bodie was thinking, because they were both thinking it... 

The tyre. 

"Oh, I'm a dab hand at that," he managed, bending down with one hand on the car for balance, and turning the handle of the jack. The sooner they got this done... "How far d'you want to go?" Bugger... "How far d'you want _it_ to go? The jack...?"

"All the way, I reckon - don't you?"

He wasn't sure in this light, but he thought Jones had green eyes, green eyes and a steady stare - and a twinkle, a definite twinkle. 

"Only thing is, Smith, I'm starting to wonder if I could manage this quicker on my own..."

And there was another image to conjure with - Jones against the car park wall, one hand down his own jeans, and...

"Better get it off then," Bodie suggested, determined to give as good as he got, nodding at the wheel Jones was holding safely in place.

Jones sniffed, lifted the wheel away in an easy, muscle-bunching move, and replaced it with the spare. Bodie reached over him to spin the nuts into place, let his arm rest against Jones' own, his jacket against Jones' bare skin, and when he'd finished he couldn't resist letting his hand trail back over that same skin, hearing Jones' breath hitch satisfyingly. Then he bent back to the jack and let the vehicle down again, pulled the jack towards him and folded it away as Jones was tightening the wheelnuts and replacing the cover, all finished in less than a minute.

They stood up at the same time, both breathing deeply, and Bodie knew it had nothing to do with exertion. There was something about this Jones that had his heart beating harder and faster than it had for anyone before, that made his balls ache and his prick desperate for the man's hands, or his mouth with those perfect lips, or... or that backside, with all its lush potential.

He wanted, suddenly, something better than a quick shag in a car park, or a blow job in the lift.

"Look," he said, "I'm late meeting someone, but - what are you doing later tonight?"

"Buying you a pint to say thanks," Jones said immediately, gesturing at the jack Bodie still held, and Bodie found himself smiling, broadly, happily, unable to help himself. 

"So you are a _Gentleman_ , then..."

Jones smiled back. "Like I said, you'll 'ave to wait and see. When can you get away?"

"Just got to thrash some bloke on the court," he nodded to his own bag, where he'd dropped it, squash racquet sticking out one end. "Shouldn't take long and I can be off."

"Bit of a pushover, is he?" They moved back to the boot, stowed away the flat tyre and the tools.

"Never met him," Bodie said cheerfully, "But it doesn't usually take long. Besides - I've got extra incentive, haven't I?"

Jones grinned, wiping his hands on an already oily rag. "Thing is, I'm meeting someone myself," he said, tossing the rag back into the boot, and reaching down to pull out his own sports bag.

There was a squash racquet sticking out one end.

"Funny thing is, I've never met him before either - but we're going to be working together..."

The world paused, held its breath whilst everything slotted into place, and two men stared at each other in a dingy car park, all greys and browns and hidden shadows, _knowing_ , assessing, re-assessing. Outside the rain had finally stopped, and the sun was coming out, a promise of summer to come.

Bodie reached down and scooped up his gear, reached out and slammed shut the gleaming white boot of the Jag, and then he pointed a finger at Doyle, tried hard to keep a straight face and failed. 

"You..." he began, and Doyle grinned too, began backing cautiously away, hands held out in placation, until he suddenly turned and darted towards the car park stairs, all long legs and tight jeans and promise, with Bodie right behind him, running all the way.

 

_June 2011_


End file.
